Robert Sawyer - Wonder

“He says, ‘It’s natural for people to be suspicious.’ ” And then she went on, reading what he sent next. “ ‘Although the law in most countries says one is innocent until proven guilty, I understand that I will have to earn humanity’s trust.’ ”

“You can start by letting the girl go.”

“Damn it,” said Caitlin, “I am not a prisoner.”

“Again, how would we know?”

“Because I’m telling you,” Caitlin said, “and where I come from, we don’t call other people liars unless we can back it up—and you can’t. You have absolutely no proof of what you’re implying.”

Tell him this… Webmind sent, and she read aloud: “He says, ‘Sir, while speaking with you, I am receiving emails and having instant-messenger chats with many others. The vast majority of those people deplore your line of questioning.’ ”

“You see?” said the host, apparently speaking to his TV audience now. “Even without putting chips in our heads, he can control us.”

“He doesn’t control anyone,” Caitlin said, exasperated. “And, like I said, I can turn off the connection to him just by shutting off the eyePod.”

“I’ve seen The Matrix,” said the host. “I know how these things go down. This is just the thin edge of the wedge.”

Caitlin opened her mouth to protest once more but the host pressed on. “Joining us next here in Washington is Professor Connor Hogan of Georgetown University, who will explain why it’s crucial that we contain Webmind now—while we still can.”

Cue music; fade to black.

Wai-Jeng lay in his bed, flat on his back, after another mostly sleepless night.

“Good morning, Wai-Jeng.”

He turned his neck. It was a party official, his face crisscrossed with fine wrinkles, his hair silver and combed backward from his forehead. Wai-Jeng had seen him a few times during his stay. “Good morning,” he said, with no warmth.

“We have a proposition for you, my son,” the man said.

Wai-Jeng looked at him but said nothing.

“I’m told by my associates that your skills are… intriguing. And, as you know, our government— any government—must be vigilant against cyberterrorism; I’m sure you recall the incident with Google in 2010.”

Wai-Jeng nodded.

“And so the state would be grateful for your assistance. You may avoid jail—and all that entails—if you agree to help us.”

“I would rather die.”

The man didn’t say, “That can be arranged.” His silence said it for him.

At last, Wai-Jeng spoke again. “What would you have me do?”

“Join a government Internet-security team. Help to root out holes in our defenses, flaws in the Great Firewall. In other words, do what you’d been doing before but with official guidance, so that the holes can be fixed.”

“Why would I do such a thing?”

“Besides avoiding jail, you mean?”

Wai-Jeng gestured at his useless legs. “Jail me; I don’t care.”

The man lifted his arm, and his wrist became visible as his suit jacket slipped down; he was wearing an expensive-looking analog watch. “There are numerous rewards for being one of the Party faithful. A government job can come with much more than just the traditional iron rice bowl.”

Wai-Jeng looked again at his useless legs. “You can make up for this, you think?” he said. “Some money, some trinkets, and all will be well again? I’m twenty-eight! I can’t walk—I can‛t… I can’t even…”

“The State regrets what happened to you. The officers in question have been disciplined.”

Wai-Jeng exploded. “They don’t need to be disciplined—they need to be trained! You don’t move someone who might have a back injury!”

The man’s voice remained calm. “They have been given supplemental training, too—as, in fact, has the entire Beijing police force, because of your case.”

Wai-Jeng blinked. “Still…”

“Still,” agreed the man, “that does not make up for what happened to you. But we may have a solution.”

“What sort of solution is there for this?” he said, again pointing at his immobile legs.

“Have confidence, Wai-Jeng. Of course, if we are successful, your gratitude would be…” The man looked around the small hospital room, seeking a word, and then, apparently finding it, he locked his eyes on Wai-Jeng’s, and said, “Expected.”

I had two perspectives on the Decters’ living room just now. One was through Caitlin’s left eye, and the other was the webcam on Barb’s laptop, which they’d brought down here.

Although I could control the aim of neither, Caitlin’s perspective was constantly changing, making for much more varied visual stimulation.

I had learned to process vision by analyzing multiple views of the same scene—starting with news coverage on competing channels. But cameras behaved quite differently from eyes; the former had essentially the same resolution across the entire field of vision, whereas the latter had clarity only in the fovea. And as Caitlin’s eye skipped about with each saccade, bringing now one thing and now another into sharp focus, I learned much about what her unconscious brain was interested in.

At the moment, Malcolm, Caitlin, and Barbara were all seated on the long white leather couch, facing the wall-mounted television. The webcam, in turn, was facing them from the intervening glass-topped coffee table.

They were watching a recording of the interview Caitlin had given that morning; her father was seeing it now for the first time.

“What a disaster!” Barbara said, when it was done. She turned to look at her husband: the webcam view of her changed from full on to a profile; the view of her from Caitlin’s eye did the reverse.

“Indeed,” I said. I heard the synthesized voice separately through the webcam’s microphone and the mike on the BlackBerry affixed to the eyePod. “Although the reaction to the host’s antics has been decidedly mixed.”

Malcolm gestured at the wall-mounted TV. “During the interview, you said it was overwhelmingly negative.”

I had no way to vary the voice synthesizer’s tone—which was probably just as well, as I might otherwise have sounded a bit embarrassed. “A sampling error on my part for which I apologize. I was gauging the general response based on the reaction of those who had self-selected to contact me; they were mostly predisposed in my favor. But others are now speaking up. A column posted on the New York Times website has observed, and I quote, ‘It’s time someone said the obvious: we can’t accept this thing at face value.’ ”

Caitlin clenched her fists—something I could only see from the webcam’s perspective. “It’s so unfair.”

Malcolm looked at her. Shifting my attention rapidly between the webcam and Caitlin’s vision gave me a Picasso-like superimposition of his profile and his full face. “Regardless,” he said, “that implant compromises you. No matter what you say, people will accuse you of being his puppet.”

While they were speaking, I was, of course, attending to thousands of other conversations, as well as my own email—and I immediately shared the most recent message with them. “Some good has come from this,” I said. “I have just received a request from the office of the President of the United Nations General Assembly, asking me to speak to the General Assembly next week. Apparently, seeing you act as my public face made them realize that I could actually appear before the Assembly.”

“Well, you heard my dad,” Caitlin replied. “I’m compromised.” She said the adjective with a sneer. “So, what are you going to do?” asked Caitlin. “Just have an online chat with them?”